


Red Spider Lilies

by wholewheatpopcorn



Series: Kidnapping AU [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Kidnapping AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:01:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25889266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wholewheatpopcorn/pseuds/wholewheatpopcorn
Summary: Max's suffering comes to an end but it doesn't feel like it.
Series: Kidnapping AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1878679
Kudos: 2





	Red Spider Lilies

**Author's Note:**

> Kidnapping AU: Max and Vincent were college friends until Max moved to New Jersey to take a teaching job. Vincent is bitter over Max leaving him and ends up kidnapping him. He impersonates Max so no one suspects anything and tortures Max in the privacy of Max's home.

“My name is Maximus Taylor and I just killed a man.” 

The person on the line seems to stammer. There’s a moment of silence and stumbling before Max hears words again. “Ok, sir, can you please tell me what happened?” 

“His name is Maxwell Vincent Tyler.” The dark pool of blood spreads slowly across the kitchen tiles like a lazy tide creeping up white shores.

Max is at a lake, breathing in the crisp morning air. Standing at the shoreline, he watches a silver boat make ripples across the dark water as the waves splash up his legs. “He’s been keeping me hostage for the past four years. He caught a cold three days ago and today I stabbed him in the chest with a knife.” The boat shudders and Max digs his nails into his palms.

“We’re going to send a team over there, can you give me your location?” His vision clears and he’s in his kitchen again.

“15672 Runadale Dr.” His fingers unclench. “I won’t be able to open the door for you.”

“Pardon?” He tears his gaze away from the puddle on the floor, finally, and even as he looks towards the front door, he keeps the figure on the floor in his peripherals. As if he’s afraid it’ll come to life again. 

“He has the door locked from the inside. I don’t know where the keys are or what the codes are. Your team is going to have to break in.” The speaker on the phone seems to say something to someone else. Maximus can’t hear what he’s saying but he assumes it’s something related. 

“Ok, sir, please stay put. We’re on our way.”

He manages a dry laugh and sinks to the floor. “Don’t worry. I can’t go anywhere anyways.” Yet another second, minute, hour with him. The body on the floor. Maxwell Vincent Tyler. His tormentor. 

He’ll never truly escape him anyways. Not now. Not ever. 

Maximus can taste bile rising up his throat. His breath catches in his throat, his chest feels tight, his mind is flooded with red spider lilies blooming in the summer. 

It takes the authorities 34 minutes to arrive. It takes another 23 minutes to bust open the door. 

They find Max standing in the kitchen. His phone is on the counter next to him and he stares vacantly at the puddle occupying the floor. There’s a body in the puddle, with a knife embedded deep into its chest, buried right under the collarbone. Where it’s heart is. Where his heart is. 

It’s an officer who takes the initiative to approach him. Her hand hovers over her gun and her voice is low and cautious. “Sir.” She says. “We need you to come with us.” Max stirs, shakily like a rusty mill churning back to life, and turns to address her. She meets his lifeless gaze and he finds that he can’t name the emotion behind her eyes. Is it pity? Is it fear? Is it disgust? He can’t tell. 

“Yes, of course.” He lifts his hands and extends out his wrists, palms flat. “Are you going to want to handcuff me?” The cold metal that closes over his wrists is his answer. He finds the chilling embrace of the cuffs as familiar as the heavy weight of a collar wrapped around his neck. 

The officer takes him outside to question him and he answers what he needs to but says nothing else. He tells her about his history with Vincent, tells her about that fateful day, tells her about the things Vincent has done. She asks him questions about the details of the kill and he gives them all. His voice is flat, as lifeless as the corpse they’re taping off in the house. 

“Is there anyone else inside the house?” He stirs, then, a bit of life sparking back into his hollowed shell of a body. 

“There’s a dog. Her name is Bellona, she’s a German Shepard, Vincent keeps her in the study room. You have to go get her, she can’t be left alone. She’s still inside, I-“ The officer lays her hand on Max’s arm and the wave of revulsion that crashes through him shuts him up.

“We’ll get her out safely, don’t worry. Let’s get you to the station first.” Maximus doesn’t trust her but he has no other choice. Maybe if he was less tired he would find the capacity to be angry about his lack of agency. Then again, he hasn’t been in control over anything for a very long time. 

And perhaps he never was. 

At the station, they run him through some tests. Skin tests, urine tests, tests he’s not even sure serve real purpose. They ask to take pictures of his scars. He takes off his shirt and lets them. They put him in a cell afterwards and take away his clothes for evidence. It’s a standard cell, with bars and a plain bed in the corner. It’s his home for the next few weeks. 

He gets to know the name of the officer that approached him in the house, Officer Monet Sullivan. She comes to visit frequently, bringing food, questions, and stories. Max sits there and listens and answers when he must. Most of his time is spent staring hollowly at the wall. He never seems to sleep anymore. Officer Sullivan brings him sweets on occasion, treats he knows he used to love. Yet, when he puts them into his mouth the only thing he can taste is sand and he can’t seem to remember the delightful flavors that used to enchant him. Nor can he shake the image of dimly lit rooms, locked doors and yellow carnations. 

It takes a few weeks before he’s put on trial before the court. His lawyer stands in front of him arguing his case and he can’t help but find the irony in the entire situation. A hostage, a murderer, and a charity case being defended by a man who gets his salary from the government. He wonders if his lawyer has been in the business long. 

Not that it matters anyways. 

The evidence is overwhelmingly in his favor— perhaps the only good thing that came out of Vincent’s morbid love of recording him being tortured. He’s acquitted of his charges and while the officers who accompany him look relieved, Max can’t find it in him to care. He’s too tired. 

He’s driven back to the station and given back his clothes and belongings. He watches, through a screen of water, as he goes through the motions of checking out of the police station’s lovely hotel. A few of the officers make some comments to him, friendly smiles stretched across their faces, but their voices are too muffled by the wall of water.

He just nods and offers a smile when appropriate. 

It isn’t until he steps outside and sees Officer Sullivan standing in the parking lot with a leash wrapped around her hand does the water finally break. She drops the leash and 60 pounds of black and brown fur bolts forward and barrels him over. He’s immediately overwhelmed with dog— with Bellona.

He wraps his arms around her and buries his face into her thick fur. It’s there, in the parking lot of the police station on a Wednesday afternoon, that he finally breaks. As his face gets covered in dog slobber, his chest heaves and hot tears roll down his face. He thinks, for the first time in a while, of warm skies and blue irises blowing in the wind. 


End file.
